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sous la feuille sombre de laurier
j'ai moulé le monde
comme égaliser tombe
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
les vérités terribles ceux-ci soient
il est allé
orage
voyez, ils retournent
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
avec ses cheveux flaying d'une manière extravagante

 



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